Blood Orange
by Fingersnaps
Summary: They're just walls, why would a member of the MCRT find it so hard to look at them? Written for the Orange Walls Challenge on the NFA.


4

**Blood Orange**

He stared at the walls, willing himself not to see what he always saw when he looked at them...orange...who could ever have thought orange was a good colour for a federal agency? It was better suited to a kindergarten classroom, or a youth centre, not a place where people dealt with crime, with death...

Truth was he hadn't really thought much about the colour before it happened, after all most times they were in here they were working and the walls were just things that helped stop the ceiling falling down. If he'd thought about them at all he simply thought the colour was...warm, friendly somehow, like when they got back from Somalia, bruised and battered, it was good to see the place again, to be enveloped in the cocoon of warmth, the brightness so welcome after the gloom of their prison cell.

After Deering's bomb it was the same, he didn't want the colour changed, the orange was as much part of the NCIS squad room as the Most Wanted posters. There had been a few brief conversations about having a new paint job when the repairs were completed, but most people opted for more of the same, it was what they were familiar with, it was part of who they were, and then it all went to hell...

It had started so quiet, so...normal, the day was a day like any other, phone calls to make, searches to be completed, sure it was different without Ziva, but he was getting used to it, working with different people was energising, it felt disloyal sometimes to be enjoying work without her, but she'd made her decision and much as he'd wanted her to change her mind, he had to respect that it was her life to live. They'd all been getting on with their own lives, working together, closer than ever, maybe needing to feel that closeness to make up for her absence, the team was still a team, they all knew another permanent appointment would have to be made soon, but for the time being things were good. He'd been at his desk, waiting on hold for what seemed like an eternity when the commotion started, there was shouting, screaming and finally there were gunshots. His training and his instincts kicked in, he dropped the phone and hurried to assist Agent Drever in bringing the gunman under control, Gibbs was there too, and the man was in cuffs within seconds.

"McGee, call Security; McGee!" Gibbs had glanced up to see the other member of their team leaning against the wall, seemingly oblivious to what was going on right in front of him. They'd stood for a second, just one second, then their world went into a tailspin, Tim didn't move, just stood there staring with eyes that weren't seeing anything but pain, his legs buckled and he started to slide down the wall, Tony was transfixed by the dark red staining the orange, as Tim fell the stain got bigger, and Tony had managed to move his feet out of the block of cement they'd been in just in time to hold his friend before his head hit the ground.

He'd heard people calling for help, for Ducky, telling him to make room, to let them get to Tim, he heard it all, but all he could see was the blood smeared down the wall, Tim's blood, his best friend's blood. They'd pulled him away and he had to stand by helplessly as the experts took his place, suddenly his legs couldn't hold him, he knelt on the floor and watched, all he could do was watch as they tried to get his friend breathing again, to get his heart beating...

Since that day he couldn't look at the walls without seeing the blood, oh they'd cleaned the wall, repaired the hole made by the bullet that tore through Tim's chest, they'd repainted that whole section, but Tony could still see it, he'd never forget. His friend, the man who'd saved his life, who'd been there for him when his life was going crazy, who'd taken all the McNicknames and the teasing and learned to give as good as he got, who'd always had his six...how could it have happened? Tim had been away from his desk, helping Agent Clarke with a new computer program and he'd been caught in the heart of a firestorm; Drever's team had made the mistake of bringing a grief crazed relative into the squad room, he'd grabbed a gun and started firing, not even having a target, just needing to deal with his grief the only way he knew how, and it left Tim McGee lying in a pool of his own blood.

Tony couldn't take his eyes off the walls, he knew it was crazy to feel the way he did about the colour, he didn't need his therapist to tell him that, he just couldn't help it, he wanted things to be different, back the way they were, he looked across at the empty desk, the room seemed so big when Tim wasn't sitting there, humming to himself as he typed, huffing on his coffee...heck Tony would even be happy to buy him sprinkle doughnuts, just so he could watch him picking off...best not to think about what was, that way lay madness. He chuckled quietly; maybe his irrational hatred of the orange walls was a sign the job had finally sent him over the edge, wouldn't be any big surprise after what he'd seen, and done in his years with NCIS.

He was staring again, even though he knew Gibbs was sitting at his desk watching him, he couldn't help it, and he made a decision, irrational or not, the walls had to be repainted, he wasn't going to come in here every day seeing the orange, and the red...he gave a small cry as the gentle head-slap took him by surprise.

"Tony, I'm okay, how many times do I have to tell you?"

"Another million should do it." He engineered a trademark grin while inside he was struggling not to fall apart, Tim had only been back at work two days and he still looked sick, better than he been, but not right, not yet. One bullet tearing a hole through his chest would have been bad enough, but it was the second bullet, the one lodged close to his heart that almost killed him. "There was so much blood Tim."

Tim leaned against the desk and set down a cup of coffee for Tony, he glanced over at the wall where he'd seen Tony's gaze alighting so many times even in the short time he'd been back at his desk. "I know I don't see what you do Tony, I...I guess I was out of it for a while...but the walls, they make me smile...everywhere else we go the walls are pale, neutral, don't have anything to say. The orange...it's vibrant, makes you feel...alive. I'm alive Tony, doing well the doc says, I'll be back in the field soon, and when we go out, 'specially if it's a tough case, it's always feels good to come back here, into the warm glow, like sunshine after a rainy day...you felt it too, tell me if I'm wrong."

"When are you ever wrong McGenius? I...not sure I can feel the same way, it was...Tim, I've never been so scared in my life, and I can't stop seeing...what I saw. Don't think I ever will."

"What if they changed the colour, you really think you can erase the memories by having a coat of white paint, or grey...?"

Tony shook his head. "Nothing's going to wipe away what I saw."

"Then stop hating the walls, they don't matter, honestly it wouldn't matter what colour they were, the office decoration doesn't make us who we are, just makes us stand out a little, not blend into the background, and face it Tony, Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo is not good at fading into the background."

Tony smiled again, this time with real pleasure. "You know me too well kiddo." He looked around the room; it was true, their office was like no other he'd worked in during his time in law enforcement, it was unique, special; he'd need more time to see only orange when he looked at the walls, to erase the deep red stains from his memory, but now Tim was back maybe he could start to look forward, away from the dark and toward the sunrise.

THE END


End file.
